


Bang, I'm Not Dead!

by clgfanfic



Category: Highlander: The Series, War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Highlander world things might have worked out differently for Paul...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bang, I'm Not Dead!

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in Off With His Head #1 and later in Green Floating Weirdness #23 under the pen name Caryn Mayo.

He stood near the smoking ashes, waiting.  Sooner or later the man would emerge, and he would need help.  It was the least he could do.

His gaze fixed on the smoldering ruins of the smaller, outlying buildings as the sun broke above the horizon, casting rays of golden orange across the seared landscape, beauty and grotesqueness vying for dominance.

Here and there bodies lay, contorted and unmoving.

He had seen death before, many times, in many wars.  But this was different, and nothing made sense.  He wasn't even sure who he was anymore.  Duncan MacLeod, John Kincaid, a man with no name…

Less than a year had passed since the world had begun to disintegrate.  Darius was the first one touched.

A small smile lifted his lips.  Darius, a dead man, who walked among the living dead.  What would he think of this?

Darius, Tessa, Dawson and his people, now Charlie…  God only knew if Richie was still alive… and Duncan MacLeod?

He was dead.  Buried.

John Kincaid walked in his place.  Kincaid, mercenary, soldier, killer…  Was he the only one left?

He shook his head.  No.  There were others.  There was the man he waited for, if no one else.

He let his eyes close.  If he had known where this road was taking him he would have found another one, or pulled off to the side.

 _No.  You're lying to yourself_ , he chastised.  _You knew from the first that you'd go along.  There wasn't anything else to do._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

John Kincaid heard the familiar sound of the bunker alarm.  He looked up, checking the surveillance camera.  Ironhorse.

He ground his teeth together.

Reaching forward, he hit a button, releasing the security lock.  Ironhorse entered.

"MacLeod," the colonel said, entering the main room of the subterranean bunker.

"It's Kincaid, Colonel, remember?  John Kincaid."

The soldier grinned and shook his head.  "I can't get used to it."

"Me either."

Stepping closer, Ironhorse positioned himself next to the man, leaning back against the table.  "I'm sorry about Dimitri."

"Yeah, me, too," the Highlander said softly, a sad smile lifting the corners of his mouth.  "It was a little like losing a brother, and I'm not sure it was worth the price."

"It was.  Oh, and Charlie sends his regards.  He's doing great, by the way.  Debi's the only one who suspects something's up, but she's not pushing."

"How's the relocation going?" MacLeod asked, walking over to a table littered with a field-stripped revolver, waiting oil.

"Almost ready to go.  The Joint Chiefs and the President are ready as soon as we hear from the last of the bases, then military law will go into effect across the country.  We're pretty sure we'll be able to take back the countryside and the rural communities without bloodshed.  The cities, well, it's going to be a bloody fight there."

Kincaid dropped into the empty chair and picked up a rag, rubbing down the bits of metal.  "For all the good it'll do."

"Hey," Ironhorse said, walking over to stand next to MacLeod, "there's nothing else we can do.  Sooner or later all hell's going to break lose, and—"

"I know, I know."  Duncan looked up.  "How long before you move the Project?"

"Three, maybe four days at most, barring some activity."

"Any word from Wilson?" MacLeod asked, oiling the weapon.

Ironhorse paced off a few feet.  "No."

"I take it he's been written off?"

"Yes," was the taciturn reply.  He turned.  "That's why I'm here.  I've checked out the paper trail on the mission he sent you and Dim— Max, on.  It wasn't funneled through regular channels."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, it's a damned good bet the aliens managed to compromise him somehow.  I have people looking into it, but no word as of yet."

"Great."

"The end result is, I want you to run out-rider protection on the Project."

MacLeod sat the weapon aside, studying the worried face of the colonel.  "Go on."

Ironhorse walked back and sat.  "I want you and two of my sergeants to put the Cottage under twenty-four hour surveillance.  If any of the Project members leave, shadow them.  I need to start moving the bulk of Omega to the new location. The troops I'm getting as replacements are green since all the spec op personnel are on standby for the assault.  I have a feeling that if Wilson is lost, the aliens are going to use him to try and lure Blackwood out, and he might fall for it."

Duncan nodded.  "I can do that.  Beats sitting here all day," he said, waving at the dreary accommodations.

"You heard from Dawson?"

MacLeod shook his head.  "I think somebody got to him – Horton's watchers, aliens, who the hell knows."

"I'm sorry.  He was a good man."

"I've been hearing that a lot, Colonel."

"Yeah, me, too.  Richie?"

"He's in Seattle.  Safe.  For now."

In a softer tone Ironhorse asked the question he had wanted to ask, but feared the answer.  "How many of us are left?"

Another shake of the head.  "Your guess is as good as mine, but it can't be too many from what I've been hearing."

"I've got to get back…  If you could start the surveillance tonight?"

"Sure – as soon as I get this ready to go."

"Thanks.  Coleman and Stavrakos will be the other two outriders.  Derriman's at the new location with Norton."  He paused, waiting for a reply.  "MacLeod?"

The Highlander looked up.

"Be careful."

There was a thin smile.  "Yeah, you, too."

A lop-sided grin tilted Ironhorse's lips.  "Always."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

MacLeod snorted, startling the birds scavenging a morning meal.  The dead wouldn't care.  They were beyond caring.  He was beyond caring.

His eyes scanned the debris for any sign of movement.  Nothing.

The others would be getting antsy.  How was he going to explain—?

No.  It wasn't his place to explain.  What difference would it make if they knew?  The world was dying, mortals and Immortals both dying right along with it.

Aliens.  Goddamned aliens from some planet light years away.  Aliens dedicated to the eradication of all human life, and from the looks of it, they had gotten a good jump on the project.

So let them have it.  All men did was kill anyway.  Kill and destroy.

Squatting, he picked up a piece of masonry and threw it at the birds gathered on one of the corpses.  Wings fluttered and they took flight, circling once before landing and resuming their feast.

He knew it was going wrong.  He could sense it in his soul, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Following Blackwood had been a simple enough task, even when the man headed into the inner city.  Stupid for someone who didn't know squat about defending himself, but then Ironhorse had told him Blackwood could be stupid.

MacLeod pressed on the accelerator, the van picking up speed in response.  It would be easier to lose the man in the dark, half-blocked streets, and he didn't want that to happen.  Blackwood was too important to the fight against the aliens, or so Ironhorse had told him, and at this point he didn't have anything else to believe in.

Ironhorse was almost ready to move the civilians, but not quite yet.  Whatever the delay was, the colonel wasn't sharing.  It had something to do with Wilson's disappearance and Dimitri's death… Max's death.  How the soldier kept all the pieces of the subterfuge straight, he wasn't sure.

Would he remember all the elements of the story he was supposed to weave if Harrison discovered he was being followed?  And when this was over, who would MacLeod become?  Himself?  John Kincaid?  Someone else?

It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered anymore, nothing but following Blackwood.

He pulled to the curb and waited while the scientist made a call, then went on to the bar.  There was no reason to follow, none but his promise to Ironhorse.  His brother.  How many lifetimes ago was that?

Duncan stepped out of the car as the dark sedan pulled up.  Two Marines climbed out.

Marines?  Something was wrong.  The military coming here?

The two soldiers disappeared inside, emerging moments later with Blackwood. They were aliens, they had to be aliens.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

MacLeod skipped a flat stone across the still pond, watching it bounce three times and sink.  He turned and walked back to what was left of the government safe house.

Blackwood's rescue had been clumsy, but effective.  He had spun out the story he had crafted with Ironhorse, using skills learned centuries earlier to impress trust on the civilian.

It wasn't easy.  Blackwood was naturally skeptical of people, and paranoid of the aliens, but in the end it had worked, and he had been able to let Harrison think he was directing their way back to the Cottage.

Duncan squinted into the sun.  It was almost nine.  What was taking so long? Maybe if he had burned, that might explain the delay.

He walked around the rubble, waiting.

He smiled thinly, remembering the surprised expression on Ironhorse's face when Blackwood and he barged onto the shooting range.  Even then, some small voice was screaming to be heard, but MacLeod didn't have time to listen.  Blackwood's news about new aliens threw him and Ironhorse off.

There really had been no choice; someone had to run recon, and it was Ironhorse's show.

He shook his head.  "But you didn't have all the answers either, did you?" he said out loud.  "Why?  Why the hell are we even bothering?  Maybe this planet is better off with us gone."

Even as he said the words, he knew he didn't believe them.  The aliens had to be destroyed.  He had seen the danger to the mortals, and the Immortals.

The time of the Gathering could not be lost.

And now, knowing that they could clone both mortals and Immortals, the aliens were more of a threat than the Watchers ever were, even with Horton leading them.

Hell, maybe the aliens have gotten hold of Horton, too.

No.  That was too easy.  Horton and his followers had simply melted into the growing hatred that gripped the cities, choking off the light, choking out the life.

Horton and his people were still out there, hunting down and killing the Immortals, while the Immortals in turn hunted down and killed off themselves.

And all the while the aliens watched and waited, biding their time.  They could afford to wait.  They had the upper hand.  Humanity, in whatever form, did half their work for them.

At least for the moment.

Ironhorse had plans, answers, although to what questions MacLeod was afraid to speculate.  He had seen the man's face when they had found him in the alien cocoon; seen the haunted eyes, eyes that had swallowed too much terror and sadness.  They were the same eyes as those of the man who had asked to die two hundred years before.

And he had died again.

Ironhorse had tried to warn them about the clone, but he was too weak.  By the time they had freed him and returned to the Cottage, Charlie was already dead, and the clone was well on his way to adding the rest of the Blackwood Project to the mounting list of casualties.

Charlie.  He had been so anxious to help.  If it had been the real Norton Drake sitting in that chair, maybe things would have ended before they began.  Drake would have recognized the clone for what he was, but Charlie . . . Charlie didn't stand a chance.  He didn't know Ironhorse well enough.

And Ironhorse had a secret – the secret of life and death and Immortality.  At least, Duncan hoped he did.

 _Debi, close your eyes_.  The words rang in MacLeod's mind like the toll of ancient church bells.

And she did while Ironhorse positioned the revolver for a sure kill.

A sure kill if he had been a man, but he wasn't a man, he was an Immortal, like MacLeod, a man who couldn't be killed, unless his head was taken.

So, if Ironhorse was alive, where was he?  Why the hell wasn't he clawing his way out of the ruins?

Duncan searched the destruction again, climbing over the loose masonry and wood.  "Ironhorse!"

Maybe the shot had been true.  Maybe it had been enough to take his head off.  Maybe his Quickening had been lost, like Darius'… maybe he was dead after all.

After all, Paul had been cloned.  No one knew what that meant for an Immortal.  Not MacLeod, not Ironhorse.  No one.  Maybe it changed them.

He had watched the unfolding events in the Cottage living room, unafraid.  After all, no matter what happened, MacLeod knew he wouldn't die.  He was damned to live through whatever the aliens had planned for mankind whether or not he wanted to.

 _In the end there can be only one_ , he thought.  Only one.  Man or alien.  Mortal or Immortal.  Good or evil.  It was all just so senseless.

The sound of rubble being moved broke through Duncan's thoughts.  He spun, looking for the source.

A hand reached through the charred debris, the fingers curling in the morning sunlight.

MacLeod took the three steps necessary to grab the man's hand, and reached out, trapping it in a tight grip.  He pulled.

With a moan, Ironhorse struggled free of his temporary coffin.

MacLeod helped him to his feet, Ironhorse sagging heavily against the Highlander for support.

"The others?" the colonel rasped.

"Safe," was the simple reply.

Ironhorse nodded.  "Take me to them."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The look on Blackwood's face spoke for all of them.  Shock, fear, hope, and confusion warred for primacy.

"What—?  Who—?"

"It's me, Harrison," Ironhorse said tiredly.

"No," Harrison said, shaking his head.  "No.  I saw you.  I saw— You killed yourself!"

"Yeah, well, bang, I'm not dead," the colonel said, stepping out of Kincaid's supporting embrace.  "Look, people, I know this isn't easy, but we don't have time for hysterics.  We—"

"Hysterics?" Suzanne squeaked.  "Hysterics?  We watched you kill yourself, Paul.  Then you walk in here like nothing's happened, and we're supposed to-to what?"

Harrison lunged for the M-9 lying on the table.  Grabbing it, he pointed it at the colonel.  "He's another clone, Kincaid.  And you brought him here.  What the hell were you thinking?"

"He's no clone, Harrison," Kincaid said levelly.  "He's an Immortal."

"Immortal?" Debi said with a half-sob.

Suzanne squeezed her daughter closer.

"An Immortal," Kincaid repeated.  "And so am I.  That's why I left you here.  I went back to the Cottage because I knew he'd heal, and he would need help getting back here."

"Suzanne, get your equipment.  Check them both.  If they're clones, they're dead."

"Fine, fine," Ironhorse said, moving slowly to a chair and sinking down.  "Just make it fast.  We've got to get out of here."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Suzanne looked up from the microscope.  "He's human.  They both are."

Blackwood's eyes widened.  "What?"

"She said I'm human, Harrison," Ironhorse repeated.  "Now, can we please get whatever you need and get the hell out of here?  Norton's—"

"Norton's dead!" Harrison exploded.  "You killed him!"

"The clone killed Charlie DeSalvo," Kincaid, said, moving to collect his equipment.  "A friend of mine.  Norton Drake is alive and well."

"DeSalvo?" Suzanne asked him.

"Norton's alive?" Debi interrupted.

"Yes, Debi.  He's at a safe house.  I've been trying to get it ready to move all of you, but this happened out of the blue, and—"  He stopped, his gaze meeting MacLeod's.  "A good man died as a result."

"I'm not buying it," Blackwood said, stalking away.  "It's— It's impossible!"

"Harrison—"

"You need proof?" Kincaid interrupted.  "Fine, I'll give you proof."

Stepping up to Blackwood, Kincaid pulled out the Battle Baton Ironhorse had entrusted with him before he had left for the alien site.  Grabbing Harrison's wrist he slapped the weapon's hilt into the man's damp palm.  Then, taking Harrison's other wrist, he forced the man to close one hand over the other.

"What're you doing?" the scientist demanded, his face going slightly pale.

"I'm proving to you what we are," Kincaid growled.

"Kincaid!" Ironhorse demanded.  "Damn it, MacLeod, stop!"

Ignoring Ironhorse, Kincaid positioned the tip of the blade just below his sternum.  "Push!" he snapped at Harrison.

"Kincaid, stop—"  Before Harrison could struggle free, Kincaid stepped forward, and jerked the scientist's hands and the knife forward, forcing the blade into his midsection.

Kincaid cried out and fell to his knees.  He looked down at the bloody hilt, and then toppled over.

Suzanne lunged forward, kneeling at the man's side.  She checked his pulse.  "My God, he's dead."

Ironhorse forced himself out of his chair to join the microbiologist.

Suzanne scrambled back out of reach.

The colonel leaned over, jerking Kincaid's shirt up so they could see the wound.  Debi closed her eyes and looked away.  Suzanne swallowed hard, and Harrison simply stared.

Pulling the Battle Baton free, Ironhorse waited.

A crackling was the first clue that something unusual was about to happen, then small sparks of blue-white energy arced across the wound, healing it as they watched.  In less than five minutes, Kincaid's back arched up, and he sucked in a deep breath and groaned.

Debi looked back.  "He's alive!"

"Yes," Ironhorse said.  "And unless you cut his head off, or mine, we'll stay that way.  Now, can we please get the hell out of here?"

Harrison stared at his long-time friend.  "I don't understand."

"I'll explain it later, Harrison, but right now I just don't have the time."

"I'm going to hold you to that, Colonel," Blackwood said, reaching out to help Kincaid to his feet.  "Both of you."

Debi sprung away from her mother, rushing into Ironhorse's arms.  He gave her a hug.  "It's okay, Deb.  I'm fine, and we're going someplace safe."

"I thought you were dead," she sobbed into his shirt.

"I know, sweetheart.  I know.  But I'm not, and I'm the same person you've always known.  You just know one more secret about me, that's all."

She looked up and nodded, wiping tears off her cheeks.

"Now, go get whatever you have here, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, rushing off.

Suzanne stepped up and gave Paul a quick hug.  "I'm just glad you're alive, but I can't wait to hear this explanation."

"Me, too," Harrison said with a shaky laugh.  He extended a hand, and Ironhorse shook it.  Then, turning to MacLeod he added, "That's quite a… gift."

MacLeod looked at Ironhorse.  "I guess you could call it that, but I hate it when I have to do that, you know?"

A small lop-sided smiled lifted the colonel's mouth.  "I know what you mean.  Now, let's move, people.  We've got a war to win."

The End


End file.
